


Something's under the surface

by MelindaCoulson4



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 3x07, AU, Actual conversation that they needed to have, Angst, Chapter Seven: The Bite, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Fun, Fun fair, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelindaCoulson4/pseuds/MelindaCoulson4
Summary: After attempting to flee the Russians at the Fun Fair, Joyce & Hopper find themselves captured, drugged, and alone. What better time to have a heart to heart?
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Murray Bauman & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Murray Bauman & Joyce Byers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Something's under the surface

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be funny if Joyce & Hopper were drugged like Steve & Robin.

Disorientation came fast. He couldn’t see their faces. He barely had a chance to see which direction they were taking him. The bright lights and deafening carnival music all blended together. His vision swam in a swirl of vibrant colors. All he knew was that there were two Russians, one on each side of him, dragging him under the armpits. The rest of his body hung limply like a heavy sack of flour, just barely held above the ground. The heels of his feet bounced through the grass. Dampness spread up and around his ankles.  It must've rained while they were out of town.

His entire head was pulsing. One of them had gotten lucky with a cheap shot to his temple. It was the same sort of pain he’d had at age eleven when Jerry Lewiston decided to take batting practice without first checking his surroundings. He would never forget the feeling of that wooden Louisville Slugger cracking into the side of his head. The Russians surely knew how to take someone down.   
  
The screaming of the crowd became distant. It had grown darker and at least ten degrees cooler. The music was muffled now. The smell of a musty old shed hit him. He managed to lift his head up and realized that he was inside some kind of room. There was talking, but he couldn’t understand any of the words. Someone got in his face and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. There was a harsh overhead light. He squinted. By the time he got his bearings, the fingers released his chin. 

The men steered him to the right. He kept his head up, trying to commit everything to memory. At first glance, he saw two more men standing in the corner of the room. But most importantly Joyce was there too, sitting in a chair with a gun pointed at her head. Her eyes were like tractor beams, demanding his attention. Despite the outer wall she had up, he could tell that she was scared. Before he could get a more accurate read on her, they led him to the empty chair at her back and shoved him down. They forced his arms down. A rope was used to bind them together. It was old and coarse. It poked at his bare skin uncomfortably.   
  
Seemingly forming from the darkened shadows, more men in black jackets and jeans came at him. With nowhere to run he could only stare at them. Joyce was in the equation now, there was no way he could even think of making a move. Even if he had a plan. A man in the corner pulled something from a metal case. It looked strikingly similar to a staple gun. Something within his body started vibrating. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. Words were spoken in Russian. A too thick and too long needle retracted from the device. A bright blue liquid sloshed around the inside of it. The man holding it stepped closer. Never once did he take his eye off the needle. It looked big enough to pierce the thick skin of an elephant. No way was that going into his body. 

"What the hell is that? Hey. Hey!" He yelled out.

Despite his concern for Joyce, he couldn’t help but react like a man who was about to receive a lethal injection in the neck.  Every muscle in his body seized up, trying to wrench him away. The chair rocked violently to the side. The meatheads held him down. He felt the needle plunge into his neck. Whatever the liquid was burned on its way inside him. His fingers bunched the material of his jeans in a tight fist. Breath came fast and hard through his nose. "Gah!"

Seconds later a commotion erupted behind him. "Get your hands off me!" Joyce demanded. Then she  screamed. It was a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard from her.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” He yelled. It was the only thing he could do.

He attempted to watch the Russians but had no clue what they were saying to each other. Whatever they’d injected him with felt like prickling lightning spreading within his body. Moving almost in synchrony, the handful of men left the room. The lights clicked off. The door slammed shut, leaving him and Joyce alone and in plunging darkness. 

After an indeterminable amount of time, his eyes began to adjust. There were all sort of odds and ends along the walls. Clown faces and animal cutouts, all props for the Fun Fair. Now that the excitement had died down, every part of his body seemed to be calling out in pain. On top of that, the heat in here felt unbearable.  He couldn't tell if it was blood or sweat running down the side of his face. He figured that they were probably being held in some storage room underneath one of the rides.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was being punished for something. Another plan gone to shit. He felt the urge to defend himself. "This isn't my fault," he said, scrambling to think of a way to explain to Joyce the pure hell he just went through.   
  
"Oh, so it's mine?" She snapped.   
  
There was something in her tone that he did not like. An edge just like she'd been acting towards him all day. Jumping at any chance to argue. But he ground his teeth together, forcing himself not to rise to the bait. Now, isolated and bound together, was not the time to start something. Focusing all his efforts on staying calm, he took a deep breath. "That's not what I said."   
  
"You didn't have to. I understand exactly what you meant," she bit back.   
  
A storm was brewing between them. This sort of thing was getting to be all too familiar now. Everything turned into an argument with her. They seemed to go from zero to sixty within seconds. In that Convertible nothing had been resolved and it was all spilling over. Over the last few days, he’d gotten the shit beat out of him several times. So, he was feeling a bit stretched thin at the moment. Patience wasn’t something he had in full supply anymore. The plan had been simple: get Murray and get the car. He thought he’d done an adequate job of distracting the Russians, so he wondered how the hell she got caught. It sure as hell felt like all the goons were only chasing after him. So yea maybe he did mean what he'd said a little bit. If she wanted an argument, he could come up with one.   
  
"Well I did tell you to get to the car," he reminded her. She had one job to do and when he escaped breathlessly through the Fun House only to be met by empty grass and dirt, he knew something had gone wrong. With his escape plan shot to hell, the Russians had been upon him in an instant. Deep down he knew he'd never be able to outrun them. They were built like unstoppable machines and he - well he was built like a man who ate donuts and chips and fast-food burgers. The only option he'd had was to turn around and try to make a break for the parking lot. Maybe hot wire a car. But then the goon that he had definitely emptied his clip into shortly before - the one Russian with apparently nine god damn lives called out: "we have the woman." Those four simple words had made him pause. He'd glanced up. One of the Russians had been at the top of the slide, holding Joyce with the muzzle of a handgun pressed into the side of her head. His brain had stopped working. Then came the crack to his head and he knew no more.   
  
"I was trying to find Murray first like you asked me to!" She yelled. "And anyway, how could you let yourself get taken?"

His mouth  fell open. "I'm sorry,  _ what? _ Let myself get taken?" He scoffed. She knew damn well how.

They were back-to-back but oh how he wished he was facing her right now.   
  
"Yea, that's what I said," she shot back louder now.   
  
" _Ohh_ _ho_ _ho_ _ho_ _ho_ _no_ ," he replied with a shake of his head. Unbelievable. Joyce Byers was god damn unbelievable. Had she expected him to just leave her in their clutches?   
  
"Come on. Go ahead. Talk about how I'm not useful. How I'm just dead weight to Chief Hopper." Her small body pressed back against his, buzzing with rage.

She thought she wasn't useful? Sure, they bickered but he never said that. Had he? No, he was sure of it. "I never said that," he defended. She was putting words in his mouth again.   
  
"Sure _oh-kay_ ," she said, sarcasm bleeding through.   
  
He clamped his lips shut before he could say something that he would regret. An explosion was clearly brewing between them and now was not the time for it. This was ridiculous. For one, they couldn't even see each other. They were each shouting at the walls like that would be productive in some way. And two, his head was still pounding. Her verbal assault on him was like a nail burrowing its way further and further in his brain. He counted back from ten inside his head. "You know what? Let's just sit in silence. That'll be better," he told her in an attempt to keep the peace.   
  
"Fine by me," she snapped back.   
  
Neither one of them spoke for a solid two minutes. The laughter and screams from outside filled the room. It was adding to his already massive headache. Knowing it would be in vain, he suppressed the urge to call out. The music was too loud. Any sound he made would be drowned out.

Feet pounded from above. A group of kids running through the metal platted floors of the funhouse, he surmised. He thought about the people walking around just outside. Unaware that a Russian army was currently infiltrating Hawkins. People like Karen and Ted Wheeler. He sat and wondered what it would be like to be any of them. To not have to deal with some nightmare end of the world situation every couple of months. Ignorance was truly bliss.

That was when Joyce started moving. The rope tightened against his arms. The frayed parts dug into his skin like microscopic needles. The pulling was starting to constrict his breathing. He tried not to say anything. He really did. But she was testing him. And it was a test that he was bound to fail. His nostrils flared up between each heavy breath.   
  
He could picture her mouth screwed up in a tight stubborn line as she tugged and fought with a fierceness that only Joyce possessed. He flinched at a particularly painful tug on a sore part of his arm. Enough was enough.   
  
"Joyce...."   
  
She continued wiggling around. He rolled his eyes. "Joyce," he grumbled, all patience gone. Still, she squirmed in place and now he swore she was doing this just to get at him. "What’re you doing?" He asked, clenching his jaw.   
  
"Trying to get out of this. We can't just sit here," she mumbled distractedly. "None of this would've happened if Murray and Alexei were with us." A harder tug came across his sternum then as if she were punishing him.

_ She thought none of this would've happened if Murray and Alexei were with them? _ Now that was laughable. She had no idea of the reality. KGB assassins were running loose around Hawkins and she thought that it would've been a good idea to put herself in the line of fire by walking around in public with Alexei, someone the Russians had to clearly suspect of defecting by now.  There was about zero percent chance she would listen to him if he tried to explain any of it to her. She was just so god damn stubborn.

He shook his head at how ridiculous this entire thing was. "You're so right, Joyce,” he said sarcastically. “The four of us could've taken a nice little stroll around the carnival. Bought some tickets...enjoyed the rides. You and Alexei should've walked hand in hand. Maybe you could've even introduced him to Karen and Ted. Wouldn't that have been neat?"    
  
She stopped pulling at him. "You know what - I am sick of this. Why don't you just go ahead and get it all out of your system right now! Lay out all your problems with me. Because obviously I have just made this a terrible time for you, Jim." Somehow, she said his name like it was an insult.   
  
Now they were both at top boiling point. He wondered if this was what their captors had intended. To turn them against each other. If he was being truly honest with himself, they had already been set on this path. Murray's stupid, idiotic impromptu psychological analysis had left them primed for this exact argument.   
  
They might as well have at it right here and now. She did ask for it.   
  
"My problems?" He asked rhetorically. If his hands were free, he would stroke his beard for further effect. "Okay - okay. Your new best friends Alexei and Scott Clarke. Alexei this. Alexei that. _Oh_ , _the smart Russian traitor was right about the truck. If only you would've uncuffed him, Jim, then the truck would've been saved,_ " he mocked her. All the heat in his body ran up his spine and spread to his head. She set him ablaze, but in the worst way possible. "And Scott Clarke. Well, he's just another guy in your genius boyfriends club. He's just so inspiring that you got caught up in spending a whole night with him." 

All day she'd been constantly singing the praises of Alexei and Scott Clarke but when it came to Jim Hopper, he could do nothing right in her eyes.   
  
"You act like I was rolling around in bed with Scott all night!" She all but growled at him.    
  
Scott. It was always Scott. That was far too personal for his taste. He hadn't actually thought about her and Scott in bed, but now that she'd suggested it, he couldn't stop the image of Scott Clarke's lanky body on hers. Just another nice guy. Another smart guy. Another..... _Bob the brain_. It was not fair, but his mind went there. Deep down that was the heart of the matter, but he wouldn’t bring that up.   
  
He was blazing and she was tossing gasoline on his fire with each mention of Scott Clarke. "Well obviously whatever he was doing captured your attention 'cause you were too busy to give me a courtesy call. Does he not own a phone? I get home after waiting at Enzo's for over an hour. No message. No note. Nothing," he reminded her. That's what started this hostility. The real problem here was the lack of care. It hurt to know that the date meant nothing to her.   
  
"I wasn't even thinking about you," she said.   
  
The confession momentarily stunned him. A sharp pain spread throughout his heart. "Well, that's pretty obvious, Joyce. Why did you even agree if you didn't want to go?"   
  
"That's not what happened and y-   
  
"No, it's fine. It's fine. I should've known. Every other time you've skirted away from my dinner offers successfully. It's my fault. I wasn't catching your drift. But now - _yea._ I understand. Loud and clear. You don't even want to be near me at all." There had been multiple attempts to ask her out on his part. He'd thought there was something between them. Reading the signs. The touches. The smiles. But somehow whenever he asked her out, she always found an excuse. It made sense now. And he was beginning to accept that.   
  
"No! _No._ You don't get to yell at me and talk over me and accuse me of fucking Scott Clark!" She exploded.   
  
His mouth dropped open. And somehow, he knew that if they were facing each other she would've delivered a shove to his shoulder.   
  
"I didn't say that!" He scrambled. It was her. She was the one to mention rolling in the sheets with Scott.   
  
"You've implied it! Not once. Not twice but a handful of times because you can't handle one missed dinner."

 _You can't handle one missed dinner._   
  
_She_ was criticizing _him_? _Oh, oh_ this would be fun. "I can handle a cancelled dinner," he emphasized. "What I can't handle is you skipping out on me because you were too busy playing with magnets all night with a middle school science teacher!" His breath was coming out in puffs.   
  
"Yea, you're right. I was playing with magnets all night. And it turns out that I was right. I was right that something was going on. Just like I was right about Will talking to me from the upside down through my god damn Christmas lights. Just like I was right that the body those paid-off bastards planted in the quarry was not my son. Have I not earned at least a sliver of respect for any of that?" She questioned. That loaded fury that could only come from Joyce was rearing its head. Every so often when she was pushed to the edge and had enough it would come pouring out if her. Even if he wanted to stop her, he knew it would not work now. "So, will you just listen to me without interrupting for one minute please!" She sounded exhausted now.   
  
There was something in her voice that made him pause. 

After a moment, he figured out what it was. She had spoken to him like a stranger, like he was just another jackass from Hawkins who thought she was crazy. With his body tied back-to-back to hers, he realized that's exactly how he'd been treating her this whole time. She was right about the Russians buying up properties around Hawkins. She was right about the guy on the motorcycle. She was right with her suspicion that something was going on. 

He was ashamed. It was as if she'd taken a needle and pricked him, causing all the mixed feelings to deflate out of him. "Okay. Okay," he agreed. He owed her that much.   
  
"The magnets fell off my fridge. And the magnets at Melvalds fell on the floor...the ones you tripped on. I couldn't get it out of my head. It's not a normal thing. Maybe once, okay...weird. But twice....I knew something was wrong. I just knew it. So, I left and went to the library. Found all the books I could get about electromagnetism. But of course, I'm no scientist so I struggled to understand them. I left Melvalds and I went to the only person who I could think of that might know something about magnets."   
  
Scott, he added silently. This time she refrained from saying his name.   
  
"He showed me. Talked about funding and money to make something that would cause the magnets to do that. And that was it. It all came rushing back to me. Who else had funding and manpower and money before?"   
  
His eyes fell closed, realization washing over him. _Them_. The lab. The people responsible for every horrible thing they'd experienced. The people who almost permanently took her son from her. The people who killed Bob.   
  
"It's all I could think about that night. That's when I saw the clock. It was late. And all I could think was: they’re back. The people from the lab are back and they’re coming for my boy again. I left Scott's in a complete panic and raced home. I found the boys sound asleep. But I couldn't even think of sleeping. I was terrified. So I grabbed the shotgun and sat in my living room.” She paused, inhaling a deep breath. “I sat there paralyzed and terrified that some group of men was going to barge in and kill my family. And I sat there all night until the god damn sun rose in the morning. And then I came to you because I knew if anyone would believe me, it would be you. You would listen. But that didn't go as planned, did it?" She finished, huffing.   
  
His heart sunk in his chest at that revelation. He hadn't listened that morning. She was counting on him and he dismissed her because he was hungover and too busy thinking about the date while she was worried about all their lives. Not only did he refuse to listen, he threw the date in her face, unable to get past it himself. Here they were. Down to the real issue. The heart of the matter. They’d been on two separate pages that morning. Her the lab. Him the date. On two entirely different trains of thought. No wonder they'd been at each other's throats this whole time. That's what this sort of thing did. It set him into a frenzy and turned her into a ball of worry.

"I'm scared, Hop. I just stopped constantly looking over my shoulder. Thinking every bad thing was them. And now it's true. These Russians want to do the same thing. They want to let those monsters back in,” she said.   
  
Alexei had made it pretty clear what was going on. Jim didn’t need to know Russian to understand the startling image of the straw piercing that Burger King wrapper. The doorway between Hawkins and the upside down was opening again.   
  
Even though months had passed, he knew what it did to Joyce. The nightmares. The flashbacks. The guilt. The anxiety. The sleepless nights. It was clear why she wanted to move. Hell, most days he didn't blame her. It was all so complicated and he’d given her a hard time. "I should've listened to you. I'm so-   
  
"You don't have to," she interrupted quietly.   
  
"Apologize? Yea I do," he told her. It's what she deserved. And the fact that she didn't expect anything from him made him feel even worse. "When you came to the cabin I should've listened. I was wrong. Okay? You're not crazy. You're so much smarter than anyone gives you credit for. I swear, you always have the right answer. About anything...most things."   
  
"I'm sorry that I missed our date. That I didn't call or leave a message." She paused. "Jim...I didn't mean to hurt you."   
  
_Jim._ It was only his name, but God it filled him with warmth hearing her say it.   
  
He thought they were a good team. He thought of Larry and how they’d double teamed him. Working together as a team. But other times it was hard. So hard. Like running through quicksand. A constant war seemed to be between them. Most of the time he wasn’t sure he even knew what they were really fighting about.    
  
Maybe this was all wrong. She was just being his friend. Maybe there was nothing more between them. Maybe they shouldn't try for more because it would be doomed from the start. If their history had anything to say about them, it was obvious that the two of them in any romantic capacity would be a terrible idea. They would always be on completely different pages and every little thing was destined to be blown out of proportion. _Then why did he want to try so badly?_ There were few things that had him looking on the bright side of life and she was one of them. It felt right. Every time he walked into Melvalds and their eyes met it was like finally placing connecting the last piece in a long, drawn-out puzzle.    
  
_I love you_ , he thought crazily.   
  
In the last few days, they’d been attacked by the goon in the lab, sprayed with bullets in his truck, escaped being blown to pieces, and hunted by the Russians. They were lucky to be alive. He was lucky that she was his partner in this. He should tell her that. Being truthful with one another wasn’t always one of their strong suits. If anything, there wasn't always time. They both knew that by now all too well.   
  
He felt the last of his resolve go up in flames. "Joyce," he began, swallowing down the instinct to stop and to shut down.   
  
An odd sound came from her then. It came out muffled like she was hiding it from him. Her back shook against his. He paused, listening closely and then he knew what it was.   
  
_Oh Jesus._ He made her cry.   
  
"Joyce...."   
  
It got louder. She was sucking in air. He could feel her behind him, body straining against the rope. It became clearer then. He'd been wrong. It was quite the opposite of what he first thought. She was.... _laughing._ Here he was, trying to have a serious conversation for once and she was laughing. Nothing about this situation was funny.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" He growled, annoyed now.   
  
"We're in a fun house. But this isn't any fun,” she said through barely contained chuckles.

A cackle left her. It was wrong, not the beautiful heart-fluttering sound of happiness that she sometimes let slip out when it was just the two of them. This was empty, forced. It was unhinged and manic, backed by no genuine feelings, as if it had been ripped from her vocal cords without consent. She was laughing so hard that she began gasping for air. He felt like he was listening to a disturbing descent into madness. He cocked his head, unable to process what was happening. This wasn't normal behavior for her. He'd heard of people laughing during inappropriate times because they weren't sure how else to react, but Joyce had never been one of those people.   
  
"Somethings wrong with me, Jim," she said while giggling through her words. She almost sounded drunk.   
  
"What?" He asked, very concerned now. Trying to get a look at her, he strained against the rope.   
  
“I feel funny,” she protested.   
  
“Like what?”   
  
“A cloud. A little floaty cloud.” Her voice changed. She was laughing uncontrollably again.   
  
That sinister Russian smile came to mind. That blue liquid in the needle. It wasn't going to knock them out. It was going to do something else to them. He knew what she sounded like. Like she was high and out of her mind.    
  
"Shit," he murmured. The commie bastards had drugged them big time. Loaded them up with some high dose of hard-hitting stuff. And Joyce’s much lower body mass was feeling the effects first.   
  
"Yep. _Puh. Puh._ Yep- _puh_. Do you hear that popping sound?" She asked, then dissolved into another fit of giggles like an absolute fool. It was only something that could be funny to someone who was three sheets to the wind or in a straitjacket.   
  
"Joyce. _Joyce_. Focus." He had to reign her in before all of her control was truly gone.   
  
" _Whaaaaat_ _? Hop, what?_ " She whined like a child. He'd never heard that tone from her.   
  
"Murray. Did you see him at all after we separated?" He asked for fear of her memory becoming seriously impaired.   
  
"Pshhh. I dunno,” she answered, now with the tone of a flippant teenager.   
  
Straightening against him, a sudden gasp flew out of her.   
  
"What?" He asked, concerned.   
  
"Alexei," she said. "He's dead, isn't he?" Her voice shook.   
  
_They got Alexei, Jim!_ He was pretty sure there was only one thing Murray could’ve meant by that. He supposed it could've meant that the Russians took him hostage too. But Alexei was a traitor to his country. The meathead terminator wanted him dead.    
  
"I don't know. We don't know that for sure," he said, knowing it was what she needed to hear.   
  
"He just wanted a cherry slurpie. _Oh_ , it's so unfair. This world. We're cursed. Everyone around us dies, Jim." He could feel her shifting around in her chair.   
  
"We're not cursed," he argued, without completely meaning it. He’d thought the same thing for so long. Now wasn't the time for that conversation. He had to keep her calm.   
  
"Yea. Yea, we are. My baby went missing in that hell hole. El was tortured for years. Benny's dead. Bob's dead," she cried out. “Sarah...”    
  
A deep ache ran through him. It was the first time she'd ever mentioned Sarah’s name. It was a topic that they never talked about. One of the completely off-limits things they never discussed. It was his loss to bear. She knew better. Pressing his lips together, he paused. This wasn’t Joyce’s fault. She was not in her right mind. This was not the time nor the place to address anything related to Sarah. _Pack it away_ , he told himself. There was nothing he could say.   
  
"And our kids are in danger again." She said softly. "It never ends."

She was circling a depressive hole like water going down a pipe. If he didn’t bring her back, he’d lose her. Optimism was not a word that he associated with himself, but he scrambled to come up with something anyway. If he lost her now, he didn’t know if he could do this on his own. "Joyce. We'll get outta here and find them, but you've got to keep it together."   
  
"You keep it together!" She wailed.   
  
God his head was getting fuzzy. The tips of his fingers were numb. The size of his tongue seemed to grow twice it's normal size within seconds. His body felt heavy and his eyelids slipped closed. A nap sounded like a great idea right about now.    
  
A jolt ran through him. Heart pounding, he jerked to attention.    
  
“...before. And I just don't get it!" It was Joyce talking, but he’d missed the majority of what she’d said. 

“What?” He murmured in confusion. 

Something rough poked him. He blinked. It was the rope. He’d drifted off without even realizing it. He wondered how much time had passed. His head hung from his neck, chin almost brushing his chest. It took every ounce of strength to pull it up. There was slobber on his shirt. Joyce was speaking but he couldn’t pick out any specific words. It was all a jumble of noises. The carnival music outside seemed to drown out everything she was saying. He swore the pace of the music had gotten slower. It took almost all the concentration he had just to focus on her words.   
  
“I said you're always one second away from exploding like a volcano,” she told him.   
  
" _Nooo_ ," he mumbled, a smile breaking out on his face.   
  
" _Yea, you are_. Your face gets all red. You huff and puff. It's really not cute," she rambled.   
  
_Huff and puff._ The three little pigs had to fight off that big bad wolf. A warm feeling come over him as he thought of El, tucked in for bed and begging him to read it to her. That was the El from a year ago. One who enjoyed ego extravaganzas, board games on Saturday nights, sleeping in every day, and reading from the dictionary. Now all she wanted was to have Wheeler in her room with the door shut. That demon kid was corrupting his little girl.   
  
He pictured himself standing at El's door with her and Mike on the other side. "I'll huff and puff and blow your house down," he slurred, repeating the iconic line.    
  
Joyce laughed. "Yes! That wolf. That's you, Hop."   
  
He joined her in laughter. The image of himself with a furry wolf's head was all he could imagine. Maybe then people wouldn't question him and give him some respect if he bared his teeth. He laughed, wheezing with sudden laughter. He felt weightless. All of the hurt from before had faded away.    
  
"Finally, a laugh from mister grumpy pants,” Joyce stated with enthusiasm.

"I'm not grumpy," he gasped He felt really good right now. The opposite of grumpy, more like a piece of seaweed swaying through the ocean.   
  
" _Yea_ you are. All the time! _Ehh_ _Joyce, don't talk to that male man he'll think you_ _wanna_ _have sex with him!_ " She mocked his deep voice.   
  
"What!" His head fell back, knocking into the top of hers like two bowling balls colliding.   
  
"Ow," she whined.   
  
The point was that he didn't care what the men thought. He cared about what she thought of those men. If she was interested in any of them romantically.   
  
"You do it with every single man now.....even the Seven Eleven cashier," she reminded him.   
  
A laugh burst out of him at the idea of her grouping that kid as a man. The Seven Eleven cashier had looked at her - up and down, in fact. As she was sipping the Coke can, fanning herself off, he’d caught the twerp in the act. _"That's my partner there. Stop_ _oogling_ _her, you little pervert,"_ he'd growled. The kid's eyes had stayed glued to the counter the rest of the time.   
  
"Well, they're a bunch of pervs, Joyce," he informed her.   
  
"I don't need _you_ to protect me from _men_ ,” she slurred.   
  
"I know that, but I want to. I wanna be there for you. I wanna be your man." The words slipped out before he even knew what he was saying.   
  
"I know." She said it so simply as if she was confirming it was dark outside.   
  
"You - _know_?" He said slowly, unable to believe that she truly knew all that he wanted.   
  
"You wanna have sex with me...can't say I haven't thought about it," she confirmed. He felt her shrugging shoulders brush against his back.   
  
_(You're curious to know what he's like in the sack)_   
  
_God damn son of a bitch Murray was right._   
  
It wasn't just about the sex anymore. He used to only want to see sleep with her. There was no denying how beautiful she was, but there was baggage and history between them. Hard feelings that were never addressed. When he came back years ago, they’d actively avoided each other around town, which was no easy feat. Still, he was a mess of a man at that point so if she ever thought to offer a warm spot next to her in bed, he would've taken her up on that offer. As it was, she never did and here they were.

He would never be able to only have one night with her. He wanted it all. He swallowed hard. "Not just sex, Joyce. Romance 'n stuff." 

They were something more. The urges that he had to go out and find a woman (almost any woman who was willing) had dissolved. Instead, he frequently found himself wondering what Joyce was doing at Melvalds. If she was sleeping through the night. If she was ever going to tell him that she was thinking about putting her house on the market.   
  
"Chocolates and roses and cuddles and kisses," she rattled off, sounding like a young girl reading her diary aloud. "Yea. I wouldn't mind loving you." 

He heard the brightness in her voice. He was officially dumbstruck. It was such a stark contrast to the way she’d been with him before. Anytime he’d mentioned maybe grabbing a bite to eat she got all squirrely. He’d been feeling that telltale spark between them for a long time now and he had a suspicion that she did too. His heart pounded in his chest. She’d used _the L word._   
  
They would probably die here, but he couldn't seem to care. The focus he had now was to tell her how he felt. _Now or never_. He cleared his throat. That was when the door swung open. The Fun Fair music got louder. The current song seemed to fly into the room and smack him right in the head.   
  
The black leather jacket goons came strolling back in, interrupting him just as he’d mustered up the courage to confess everything to her. There was always an interruption. And he was sick of it. Sick of these bastards chasing them. His mouth opened on its own accord.   
  
"Oh here we go! Three Smirnoffs!" He rolled his eyes. Big and macho. He could take them all. Mostly, he was just pretty peeved at the interruption.   
  
"Where have you been? We've been waiting here for a hundred hours!" Joyce suddenly exclaimed, as if the two of them were parents waiting for their children who'd broken curfew.

Another man entered the room. Jim watched in alarm as the man came straight at him. Before he could get a word in, a fist cracked into his nose. Pain exploded in his face, racing all the way to his ears. He felt warmth run down his mouth and drip off his chin. Blinking, he stared at the man. He had an unremarkable face except for the smears of blood under his nose. He looked just as Larry had after taking his office door to the face. A streak of dried blood decorated his hairline. He appeared much younger than the others. A deep rage was written on his face. A hint of recognition came to Jim then. It was one of the Smirnoffs he’d taken down inside the fun house.

“Look! Look, I’m sorry about earlier, but buddy, you were  gonna kill me,” he attempted to smooth it over, unsure if the guy even spoke any English.

There was a commotion. Jim craned his neck, but he couldn't see the action. A clown against the wall stared at him with an unchanging painted on face. 

"Who are you? Who do you work for?" The owner of the voice had a thick accent and he recognized it immediately. He must be hallucinating. He quickly learned that he was not, when said man came to a stop in front of him. It was the motorcycle guy. The one that had hunted him down in the hall of mirrors.  Also the one that he’d definitely unloaded an entire clip of bullets into. The evidence was right there in the near dozen circular holes punched through his shirt. There was only one thing to say. 

“ Oh come on!  How  _ the hell _ are you still alive?” Jim asked incredulously. T he man  had to be a machine. Maybe he really was the terminator like  L arry had said.

The question went on to be ignored.   
  
“Who do you work for?” The voice was closer now and aimed at Joyce.   
  
“Melvalds.... but I'm probably gonna get fired soon so I'm actively looking. Tryna make detective here.”   
  
The terminator’s eyes lowered to slits. "Stupid bitch," he said.   
  
"Hey!" Jim yelled. His right hand curled into a fist. "That's detective to you, buddy. Show some respect."   
  
The terminator came around, eyeing him with his smirk and his stupid, spiked up hair. “Policeman. You killed my man,” he said, while poking Jim in the chest with a disturbingly strong finger.   
  
“And you killed my man Alexei. Big mistake,” he sneered.   
  
The Russian laughed, but Jim caught the poorly concealed worry in his eyes. “What did that defector tell you?”   
  
Despite their rough beginning, Alexei had shared a lot. Their time constraint had limited the amount of information Alexei could provide, but Jim was confident in their standings. They knew a hell of a lot more now than they ever did. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see the Russian squirm. “All of it. And you're going down.”

“I will kill you both now,” the terminator said simply.

“Doesn’t matter. American soldiers will be in your backyard within the hour,” his mouth blurted before his mind could catch up. He hoped that was the truth. Owens never really gave him a specific game plan.   
  
“One call to our friend with our secret codenames and it was all over,” Joyce cut in.   
  
“ _Hmm._ What are your codenames?” The beady little eyes trained on him.   
  
Joyce scoffed. “I'm wheelbarrow this is my partner antique chariot.”   
  
A moment of clarity came over him and he realized that she shouldn't have revealed that. “Joyce!” He protested.   
  
“You will call this friend again then claim false alarm,” the terminator demanded.   
  
“Sorry boys, but we have plans already. Ever heard of Enzo's? Me and Jim, we've got to reschedule a date so could you like speed this up please. Need to be outta here like now.”   
  
He perked up in his seat. “You wanna go to Enzo's?”    
  
“ _Uh, yea!_ ” Joyce exclaimed. “Like I said...I didn't plan on not showing up.”    
  
“There will be no date. You will die here.”    
  
Jim had a newfound energy within. The pain in his face took a backburner. “Oh no, we won't. I finally...finally get her to agree to a date and a bunch of smirnoffs come in here and ruin it? I don't think so.”   
  
“Hey, that's an insult to Alexei,” she complained right in his ear.   
  
“Oh Jesus here we go again, Joyce! Alexei this and Scott that. Well, what about me?”   
  
“You're good too.”   
  
“Just good? That hurts me,” he revealed.   
  
“You're great, Jim. Of course, you are. I've just been scared. You know I've been through a lot.”

The Russians were looking at them with confused stares.

“We had a date. She didn't show up. It crushed my heart.” The truth poured out of him. 

“I already said I was sorry! I didn't mean it. Of course, I would've rather been with you than Scott. We could've had a great night. But the magnets needed my attention,” Joyce continued.   
  
“They just speak and speak without any words. American jibber jabber,” a smirnoff commented.   
  
The other Russian that he’d gotten into a fight with stepped forward. “Scoops Ahoy,” he sneered.   
  
The name caught Jim’s attention. It had his mind flashing to Harrington in that pathetic little sailor’s costume. “Scoops Ahoy? What about Scoops Ahoy?”   
  
“They call one...Dustin Henderson.” The Russian grinned.    
  
Dustin. If they’d gotten ahold of one of the kids’ names that was sure to mean they were all compromised. A spike of fear rushed up. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, but the Russian studied him carefully. The man snapped his fingers, then gave a short command in Russian.   
  
Every man in the room filed out except for the two that hated him most. The terminator and bloody face.   
  
“Where are they going? What did you tell them?” He demanded.   
  
“To kill them all.” The terminator laughed. 

Jim thought of El and what she would do to them if they forced her hand. “You don't wanna know what happens when you mess with our kids,” he said with confidence. All of the kids were resilient and practical in their own ways. It was actually annoying in everyday life (like when Wheeler smuggled a walkie talkie into the cabin for El to talk to him at all hours of the night), but in high-stakes situations like this he was sure they’d give the Russians a run for their money. 

“Really?” The terminator asked sarcastically. He had the smile of a man who thought he held all the cards.    
  
“He’s right, so why don’t you just-“ Joyce’s voice abruptly dropped off. 

“Shut your chatter box!”

Jim strained his neck to get a look at what was happening. All he could see was the Russian’s muscle-rippled arm stuck out towards Joyce. “Hey!” He yelled, hoping to turn the attention on himself.    
  
A loud pounding sound came from the other side of the door. The terminator marched to it. Jim swallowed hard, suddenly very afraid that it might be even more Russians for torture or god knows what else. The door flung open. A large cart came barreling into the room. It mowed over the terminator with ease. Yet it still kept moving, picking up speed. It flew past Jim’s chair and finally slammed into the opposite wall. He watched as dozens of glass bowls wobbled off the side and fell to the floor. The glass shattered to hundreds of tiny pieces. Water went everywhere.

“Not the fish!” Joyce screamed.

Jim looked back to the door. The second Russian was on the ground, unmoving. His mouth hung open at the sight. “What the....” He trailed off as his gaze shifted. 

He saw their savior: the disheveled man wearing a wife beater and cut-off shorts. 

  


* * *

  
  
Jim and Joyce were in the backseat of the stolen Cadillac and Murray's brain had turned to mush. Gooey, nonsensical mush as a result of listening to the two of them and it had only been five minutes. He was astonished by how polarizing the conversation was now compared to mere hours ago.

He couldn't turn on the car’s radio to drown them out because he had to monitor the walkie that they'd stolen. At the same time, he tried to think of the best way to get to Starcourt Mall, which was a place that he swore he would never set foot in. But Jim, in a moment of clarity, had told him that they needed to go to the mall because that’s where the kids would be. Just how Jim had come to that conclusion was where it got decidedly messy. When asked for an explanation, Jim went on a tangential rant about something called scooter joys, ice cream, and someone named Dustin. All while Joyce had been caught up in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. That’s when he signed them off as too far gone and realized he was on his own.

"Enzo's and then afterwards to my place." Joyce gasped. " _Wait no_. No. Will and Jonathan will be there."   
  
“I can be quiet. Can you?" Jim asked.   
  
“I'll try,” Joyce whispered.    
  
“I'll help you,” Jim said.   
  
They were giggling and conspiring about how to hide their sexual acts from their children. Being the only sober one left, Murray was irked and had hit his maximum capacity for foolish talk.   
  
"Would you two do me a big favor and zip it!" He yelled back at them.   
  
“Hey!” Jim called out, like he’d suddenly just realized that he and Joyce were not alone in the car. 

Murray’s eyes shot up to the rearview mirror to look at Jim.

“Hey! Buddy!” Jim pointed wildly at him. “You were  s'possed to protect her,” he slurred.

Joyce scoffed, then the tirade came. “I can take care of myself. I don't need help from either one of you!” 

That was rich coming from the woman he had to carry to the car in the first place because she couldn’t stop laughing enough to hold herself upright. Murray pulled his gaze from the rearview mirror and eyed the road ahead. The left side of the car had drifted a couple feet over the double yellow lines. He righted it, then responded, “yea clearly... _very capable_. Except for the fact that I wouldn't trust you to take care of a cardboard box right now!”   
  
Joyce leaned forward; he could hear the squeak of the leather-bound seat. “For your information I have two boys that I've raised all by myself without any help from _some kind of man_. So you need to ju-   
  
“You're so small and powerful. So cute,” Jim gushed. 

“No, you're cute.” Joyce cooed, completely forgetting her line of thought.

They both busted up in a fit of uncontrolled  giggling.

Patience wearing thin, Murray rolled his eyes. “You've got to be kidding me,” he murmured under his breath. Silently thankful for the top down, he inhaled a deep breath of the crisp night air. It helped to calm him a little, but nowhere near enough. They'd been grating on his nerves ever since they’d showed up on his doorstep. And not because they were both demanding and pushy, while asking for his help. But, because of the constant unnecessary bickering. Clearly, they were attracted to one another, yet they were afraid to even admit a hint of feelings for each other. Quite the contrary to now, with the barrage of declarations, compliments, and other things he’d already purged from his mind.

He should've left them stuck in that room and at the mercy of those Soviet scumbags. Just took the damn car and drove away. None of this was his problem, but somehow, he'd been roped in just because he could understand Russian. Because Jim was his acquaintance born from mutual hate for the bastards at Hawkins Lab. Jim Hopper now, was a far cry from the man who'd berated him almost daily in front of all the staff at the sheriff’s office last year. He distinctly remembered Jim’s vehement denial of his claims of a Russian invasion in Hawkins and look what happened.  _ My, my, my how the tables have turned. _

And damn it, he actually cared what was going to happen. He’d developed a concern for these people. Jim and Joyce, aside from the sexual tension, were surprisingly tolerable people.

He was in  it with them now , wading knee deep in crazy. And well, that was nothing new.

It had grown suspiciously quiet. His eyes darted to the rearview mirror. Much to his chagrin, two passengers had become one. The first thing he saw was the back of Joyce’s head, which partially distorted Jim’s face. While Jim’s hands were lost somewhere in the sea of Joyce’s brown waves, holding her face to his. Naturally, Murray came to the conclusion that Joyce was straddling Jim’s lap. Their mouths pressed up against each other. Not an ounce of shame either, oh no they were attacking each other like two lovers reuniting after years apart. _Sucking face_ , the juvenile term came to mind.   
  
"Hey! Absolutely not!"   
  
The blast of a nearby car horn pierced the air. He turned back just in time to swerve the front bumper away from the car in the lane over. The car's tires squealed in protest against the asphalt as he righted it.   
  
Breathing heavily, he gripped the wheel between two shaking hands. "Son of a bitch! You two are gonna get me killed!"

This time he took only a quick look back. A flash of skin greeted him. They were continuing on, oblivious to the fact that the car had almost collided into another. Jim's hand was halfway up Joyce's back, bringing her shirt with it. Her bra strap was visible. That was something he didn't need to see. 

A translator , that’s what he was, not some babysitter for two adults climbing to the top of their forties. 

He took it all back. The complaints and snide remarks. This was infinitely worse than the bickering. In fact, he longed for the nauseating bickering like a fond, childhood memory. He’d take anything over what they were doing now. 

Something thumped the back of his seat, knocking him forward an inch. He refused to look back, for fear of what sort of ungodly sight he would be confronted with.

_ No more _ , he decided.

That was the last straw. A line had been crossed. He would not be subjected to this escalating display anymore. He was not going to die tonight because the two of them were being handsy. Without warning them, he cut the wheel hard and to the right. The car darted off the side of the road. Bumping along the grassy pullover roughly.   
  
A girlish yelp rang out, followed by verbal protests.   
  
When the car came to a halt, he turned. Joyce was sprawled out along the back seat. Her body contorted against the passenger side of the car.

Jim hovered over her. “Want me to kiss it better?”    
  
“Yea," she pouted, holding her head.   
  
That had Murray exiting the vehicle. He slammed the driver’s side door shut. Expelling some excess frustration towards the automobile.

"Children! Children! Children! Time out!" he clapped with each word hoping that would snap them into some sort of attention.   
  
Jim had one of his big hands reaching for Joyce’s head.    
  
He slapped at Jim's hand. "No touching!"   
  
“We can-   
  
_“Ah! Ah! Ah!_ No more talkie!”   
  
Joyce’s face scrunched up as she pulled herself into a seated position. All of her hair seemed to settle on one side of her head, making her look even more ridiculous. The top three buttons were popped on Jim’s gaudy shirt. Red welts were beginning to show on his neck. The evidence of their discretions. Murray could barely suppress a shudder. He leaned closer to the back seat so the words that he was about to say would penetrate their thick skulls. 

“Listen here you two  _ nitwits _ . I have spent the past twelve hours listening to your will they won't they banter. You hate each other, then you love each other. And you pretend  _ real _ hard and lie about not being interested only for you to get drugs and now bang each other in front of me?  _ I don't think so _ .” He took a breath. “So, here's what's  gonna happen. You both will stay on your designated side of the car.” 

He fastened his gaze on Joyce. She stared back blankly.

“You, on this side.” Murray slapped the leather seat impatiently.

She crawled  the few inches away from Jim .

“ _Good job_ ,” Murray praised sarcastically, like she was a golden retriever. The smile slipped off his face. “When this is all over and my eyes are miles away from the two of you, be my guest to do whatever pent up sexual dance you want. Until then we’re gonna play a game of pretend where there's an imaginary line here that can't be crossed.” He swung his arm between the middle of the two seats.    
  
"Or what?" Joyce asked, rolling her eyes.   
  
“Don't test me, Joyce,” he warned with eyes bulging out of his head like an overused squeeze toy.   
  
“Did you hear that, Jim? Three inches of space. Better not cross it or dad will ground us,” she said with a conspiratorial grin.   
  
Jim snorted, then lapsed into a full-bellied laugh.   
  
“ _Oh,_ you two think it's a joke? Okay. Okay. I'll show you something funny.” The frame of his glasses had slipped down the slope of his nose during his upset. With one hand, he fixed them. With the other, he dug into the back pocket of his shorts. “Hand right here, please.” He gestured to the handle on Joyce’s side of the car. She complied without question. Satisfied with his foresight from before, he smirked and tightened the metal handcuff around her tiny wrist. It clicked as he latched her to the car.   
  
_“Hey!”_ She let out an outraged protest. 

M oving quickly and not so politely, he grabbed Jim’s arm and completed the same set of actions at the opposite side of the car. He fastened the second set of handcuffs quickly. 

“Woah woahwoah! Those are Hawkins police issue! Only the police, man!” Jim yelled.   
  
“ _Oh, didn't you hear?_ I'm the chief of police now since the prior chief has become a bumbling buffoon,” Murray snapped.   
  
“He's not a buffoon,” Joyce said, swiftly coming to Jim’s defense.

“Spare me!”  Murray cut her off before she could keep going.

She tugged against the metal like she could break the clasp from sheer force of will. If the cuffs were pervious to annoying comments then she would surely get out. But alas, they weren’t. He stepped away from the car and took a breath. Neither one of them were showing signs of coming down from their high, but he needed to get to that mall. 

“ _ Hey,  _ _ daaad _ _? _ ” Jim called. “Hurry it up, will ya?”

Murray looked over at Jim who looked more racoon than human. He’d taken a serious beating by the Russians and now sported deep purple bruises under both eyes and more than likely a broken nose.

Murray put his hand on the door, when something caught his eye. A paper bag lay at the foot of the passenger seat. He unrolled the bag and reached in. A bag of chips sat atop a six pack of cokes. Of course, Jim had more food. It wasn’t much but it was at least something else other than each other to occupy their hands and mouths. Hopefully it would help treat whatever was ailing the love birds.

“ Take it! Take it! ” He held out a can to each of them. 

They both just about went cross-eyed at the prospect of food.

“Now you both will sit and sober up while I get us to the god damn mall where your children are.”

Neither responded.    
  
“Tell me you understand,” he demanded. They’d taken the last of his strength.   
  
“Yea,” Jim answered, mid-chew.   
  
“Yea,” Joyce said. “Meany baldman,” she added under her breath.   
  
Murray’s eyes turned to slits as he fastened her with a glare. Seconds rolled by as he pondered giving her another dressing down. 

Joyce took a sip from her can. “ _Well?_ Are you gonna go?”She questioned with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.   
  
Jimsnickered.

Murray thought it was b est not to respond.

This time, when getting back in the vehicle, Murray hopped over the car door and into the seat. Taking a moment, he lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. “If there is a god, please give me strength,” he whispered into the night. Blessedly, there was silence. The engine roared to life again.    
  
After about a hundred yards down the road, he spied them in the rearview mirror again. Their fingers were joined together in the middle of the seat as they chewed. Stupid smiles were plastered on their faces.    
  
At least they were quiet.

//end//

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments welcome :)


End file.
